The Things That Set Us Apart
by Dollhousesareforwhimps
Summary: Summer has been a blast for Willy and the entire Bucket clan. Unfortunetly, all good things must end. And young, chocolatierintraining, Charlie, will discover first hand why his mentor Willy Wonka is the way he is.
1. Charlie's Gift

I've been experiencing some extreme setbacks with the sequel to another fic (including a whole chapter becoming corrupted ). So, to ease this burnt out feeling, I started writing this. I really, really, really loved the movie, 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory', especially the character Willy Wonka. Johnny Depp just brought a whole new dimension to the character. As opposed to Gene Wilder's textbook eccentricity (don't get me wrong, his performance was the only reason I bought the Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory DVD) it almost seemed like Mr. Depp actually locked himself up in a factory for fifteen years and was experiencing the appropriate backlash. Oh well, enough rambling. Enjoy

This chapter was actually rewritten a bit since I originally posted it

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Charlie sighed deeply, taking in some of the chocolate perfumed air. He loved Saturdays. Even though summer was in full swing and weekends had been rendered obsolete, the habit was hard to break. And Saturdays held a little more for Charlie than an excuse for laziness. It was Saturdays when he and Mr. Wonka would brainstorm new ideas to try that week and Saturdays alone. So you can imagine the young chocolatier in training was liable to burst from all the ideas dancing around in his head. Mr. Wonka liked it that way. He had always said that, "Trying an idea two seconds after conception was like trying to give birth before you're due." Charlie didn't really understand that analogy (truth be told, neither did Mr. Wonka), but Mrs. Bucket assured him that both where very bad ideas.

Charlie grabbed the clothes his mother had laid out for him and hurriedly got ready to leave. Despite a few minor collisions with the floor while both putting on pants and brushing his teeth he was ready to leave rather quickly. After narrowly missing his father on the stairs and giving each of his, sleeping, grandparents a kiss his mother gave him the usual debriefing.

"So dear," she smiled, "make sure you're on time for dinner tonight. Saturday or not, I won't have a son of mine waltzing in whenever he pleases."

As if on cue, the front door burst open with such force, Charlie was amazed it was still on its hinges. Mr. Wonka peaked his head in the door with an exuberant expression and playful smile, "You ready, Charlie?"

Mrs. Bucket smiled slightly and rolled her eyes. "Did you hear that, Willy?" Mrs. Bucket asked, looking up from the potatoes she was chopping.

Willy removed his coat and, still smiling broadly in anticipation for the day ahead, asked, "Hear what?"

"I want you two back on time tonight." She answered waggling her knife absent mindedly in his direction, agitating the man slightly. "I know Saturday is a very important business day, but-"

"Oh, of course, Mrs. Bucket!" Willy interrupted, "I wouldn't miss your dinner for the world!" He paused, toothy grin intact, and nudged Charlie a bit roughly.

"Oh, of course, me too!" he said enthusiastically while rubbing his shoulder where Mr. Wonka had elbowed him.

Mrs. Bucket arched her brow and went back to chopping, "Okay then, darling, I'll have to take your word for it." She sighed, silently musing about how long she'd have to stay up waiting for them tonight. "Come here, dear." She continued, giving Charlie a kiss on the cheek. Almost instantly, Mr. Wonka's grin vanished and he looked down at the floor nervously. Mrs. Bucket felt a sudden pang of guilt and motioned for the distressed man to come nearer, "You too, Willy." She said kindly, repeating the sign of affection she had given Charlie. Mr. Wonka broke out a genuine grin and his pale face reddened slightly.

Charlie, who was already outside, poked his head in the door. "Come on, Mr. Wonka!" he said impatiently, obviously very eager to share some of his ideas with Willy.

This seemed to knock Willy out of his blissful trance. He nodded farewell to the inhabitants of the cabin and slipped out without making a sound.

"What was that about?" A skeptical Mr. Bucket asked from the top of the stairs.

Mrs. Bucket raised her eyebrows in confusion before stifling a giggle at her husbands absurd assumption, "Don't be ridiculous, darling! Poor thing doesn't have a mother to speak of. I'm surprised you don't know that, considering how much Charlie talks about him.

"Don't worry about my Wonka knowledge, I could write a small history of the man…" Mr. Bucket sighed while descending the staircase.

"Oh, come on now. He's just excited about his new friend, is all. Willy's more like a brother to him anyways. They have each other to pal around with. I mean, honestly, how useful are we in that department? You go to work and I cook all day. We should be glad our Charlie's got something to do and really enjoys doing it.."

Mr. Bucket nodded reluctantly before adding, "I don't mind him being a brother to Charlie; I just don't want him to be a father to him…"

Mrs. Bucket abandoned her potatoes and walked over to her husband, joining him on the footstool where he was perched. "Sweetie, Charlie's mad about you, but he's growing up. You're can't tell me you didn't ignore your own parents when you reached his age."

"She's right you know." Grandpa Joe whispered to the man across from him.

"Ah, what do you know…!" Grandpa George hissed back.

"I know you're right, dear." Mr. Bucket submitted (at this point Grandpa Joe stuck his tongue out a scowling Grandpa George).

"Good." Mrs. Bucket smirked, giving Mr. Bucket a kiss of his own. "Now scurry along you'll be late!" She exclaimed rising quickly from her seat.

"Yes, ma'am." He bowed low, making his wife giggle.

"See you tonight then?" she asked after going back to the kitchen.

"Of course, dear." He called from the doorway before heading out to the nearest elevator shaft.

"I do hope he's back for dinner on time, at the very least." The woman sighed while fetching some celery from this fridge.

* * *

"Um, Mr. Wonka, where are we going?" Charlie Bucket asked, breathlessly trying to keep up with the man's long strides. Indeed, Charlie had reason to be confused. They had passed the inventing room, where they usually held their brainstorming meetings, and now were heading down a dimly lit corridor Charlie didn't recall ever seeing before. The unfamiliarity left him with an unwelcome sense of impending doom.

Mr. Wonka had been walking very quickly, out of both anticipation to get where they were headed and to conceal his revealing grin from the boy behind him. "I just thought a nice change of scene would get the creative juices flowing." He said, finishing with an unsuccessfully hidden giggle.

Charlie just followed uneasily, envying Mr. Wonka's bright outlook within such a dank place. Granted, Mr. Wonka probably knew where they were headed, but still…

It was times like these that highlighted their differences so much, and Charlie hated it. He had idolized Willy Wonka ever since his first bite of Wonka chocolate. His every mannerism was another testament to his greatness and, no matter how hard he tried, Charlie couldn't imitate, let alone be, the flamboyant candy man. And his desperate need for approval from the generally cold, Mr. Wonka, wasn't helping.

Suddenly, Mr. Wonka stopped so abruptly that the, lost in thought, Charlie ran right into him, knocking him out of his rigid position. As Mr. Wonka leaned down to retrieve his hat, which had fallen off in the collision, Charlie observed the door which they had stopped in front of. He cocked his head a bit at the strangeness of this entire situation, he had seen and worked in the majority of the factory's many rooms, but this door seemed to have just popped out of thin air.

After dusting imaginary dirt of his plum overcoat, Mr. Wonka smiled, placed his hand on the knob, and turned to Charlie.

"You ready?" he asked, his excitement having reached its pinnacle.

Charlie, perplexed, excited and almost fearful at what this special room may contain, breathed a barely audible, "Yes."

With that, Willy turned the knob and opened the door. For a moment, neither did anything and Charlie's face was frozen with the look of utter disbelief, which was then replaced by unspeakable joy.

The room before him was very special indeed. Long clear columns with little slots near the bottom were filled to the brim with Fudgemellow Delights, seemingly round square candies, a special type of gumdrop that had the distinct taste of buttered toast, and more, all of which were Charlie's favorites. One wall was lined with bookshelves, each carrying, what Charlie would discover shortly, empty journals, all ready for him to fill with his ideas. Along another wall was a laboratory that was just the right size for Charlie to move about independently. Large easy chairs, specially designed for thinking, were scattered around next to large drawing boards. The thing that really made the young chocolatier-in-training smile was the plaque that hung on the wall right next to him.

'Charlie's Imagination Room'

After a few minutes of stunned silence on Charlie's part, Willy Wonka begin to fidget with his cane, smile fading to a nervous frown. He waited thirty seconds more before blurting out, "Do you like-" only to be cut off by Charlie nearly knocking him over with an enthusiastic hug. Willy jumped at the unexpected physical contact but slowly relaxed into the awkward situation patting Charlie's back a bit, frightened smile still a fixture on his gaunt face. The Oompa Loompa's looked up from their work in the under construction elevator shaft and silently watched the semi-sweet scene.

Charlie finally loosened his grip on the, still nervous, Wonka. A turned his attention back to the beautiful room. "It's perfect Mr. Wonka! I've always wanted a place to call my own. Thank you so much!"

"Oh I knew you'd love it!" the candy maker squealed with delight, "How could you not? See that glass the columns made of? Well it's not really glass, it's molten, well, was molten sugar I had the Oompa Loompa's fashion into cylinders. Of course, to do so, I had to invent a new sugar-glass blowing pipe that five or six could use at a time. For, you see, dear boy, an Oompa Loompa's lungs are very tiny, about a third the size of a human pair. Yes, the most an individual Oompa Loompa can make out of sugar is an ashtray which, after being used, isn't fun to lick at all. But those columns are perfectly scrumptious if you ever wanted to give them a taste. Of course, I wouldn't lick them too often. The last thing we want is a collapse." He finished his mile a minute speech with a high pitched giggle. Charlie hadn't really been listening. Not because he didn't find Oompa Loompian sugar blowing interesting, but because an ultimate feeling of place had swept over him.

Charlie was, through and through, a normal boy, no matter what his mother an father said (Mr. Wonka might object to that statement too, but, considering the children he had been exposed to, not much stock should be put in his judgment.) He wasn't the first boy picked in gym class, neither was he the last. He had always figured that, had he any siblings, he would be the middle one. Not that he minded all this. A child that had been in Charlie's position did not take things for granted. And being ignored was far better than being picked on. But now, having something all his own, it made him special and important somehow, it was a fantastic feeling.

Charlie ventured deeper into the room that could now be referred to as his 'office' (in this factory, the word 'office' loosely meant 'playground'. After all, Willy had a jungle gym in his.) Mr. Wonka attempted to follow his apprentice into the recesses of the room, but found he was unable to budge from his spot. He stubbornly pressed onward until he felt a small tugging on his pant leg.

"Yes?" he asked, turning around to see an Oompa Loompa behind him.

"It's almost September, sir." He replied mechanically.

Wonka furrowed his brow in confusion, "I am perfectly able to keep track of the months myself, thank you very much." He responded indigently, offended at the implication he couldn't.

"No, sir, I mean Charlie will be attending school again shortly."

"Oh...yes, I hadn't really thought about that..." He said softly, casting occasional fleeting glances in Charlies direction. He didn't realize summer was almost over. He hadn't even realized the season had begun until he saw Charlie bouncing off the walls in the gelatin room singing a song by some girl named Alice Cooper and went to ask his parents what it was about. Shortly after he went to join in on Charlie's merrymaking, but that all seemed so long ago. He had grown so used to Charlie's company; he didn't know how he was going to pass six hours without him. Of course, the only emotion that showed on his face was an empty grin.

"Well, we should probably get him some new duds then. Those things he has now are so...plain. Oh, I know!" He shouted with boyish delight, "Call up the Oompa Loompa who makes my clothes...what's his name?"

"Rebecca, sir."

"Oh, right, well call him up and get him to take Charlie's measurements. A new coat would be just perfect for the winter months!" He pivoted on his heels until he faced Charlie (who was at the moment doodling in one of the journals). "What do you think would be a better color on him, mauve or goldenrod?"

"I'll give her the message right away, sir." The Oompa Loompa said tiredly before disappearing into one of the trap doors Willy had designed to make the Oompa Loompa's travel throughout the factory more efficiant. Willy sighed, Charlie seemed perfectly content where he was, and the Oompa Loompa's were all busy at work.

I'm sure no one would mind if I slipped out for a while...Willy thought to himself.

Taking every precaution not to be seen by Charlie (who would have certainly wanted to accompany him), he crept out of the room and into the nearest lift entrance. After clicking the button labeled 'Top' he was off, whizzing through the air to his destination.

Now, considering the names some of the elevator buttons were adorned with. 'Top' was extremely to the point. There weren't any explosive little red candies that would make you blow the top of your head off, nor were there any Toffee of Paradise bars. It was simply the top, and was where William Wonka would go to think.

With a soft ding, the glass elevator's doors slid open and Willy stepped out into a very small room. With glass walls it provided him with a window to the outside world. He couldn't stand being among them, but from high above, in the tallest tower of his factory, the city below look…quaint. Like nothing bad every happened. It was a nice break from the constant fear and worry.

Ever since Charlie and his family had moved into the factory, Willy had so much more to worry about than himself, the Oompa Loompa's, and what candy was selling well. Now he had to make sure Charlie was happy, knowing first hand what bad moods did to candy. To do this he had to make sure Charlie's family was happy. His own problems had been swept under the rug of his subconscious, left to manifest into bigger and bigger dilemmas. This wasn't a problem before, because in the end he was the only one that needed to be taken care of. Now there was Charlie…

Summer had been easy enough; he'd had control over what happened and didn't happen to Charlie as long as he was in the factory, which he didn't leave often. But now…not only would he be lonely without the boy, he'd be leaving him alone with the outside world and, worst of all, other children.

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I hope you enjoyed it. I have many projects I'm in the middle of currently (damn procrastination…) but I do really like my idea for this story. I hate to milk my readers for reviews, but in all honesty, it will put more pressure on me to churn out chapters if I know people are reading. 


	2. Sunset in the Chocolate Room

New chapter! I know, aren't you excited? It's a bit short but this chapter will most likely throw most of you for a loop. It will probably seem somewhat out of place next to the last chapter, but it will make sense in the big picture! At least…I hope it will. Please enjoy!

Authors notes and review thank you's will be at the bottom.

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A few days had passed since Mr. Willy Wonka had been informed of the fast approaching school year, and since then things had not been going to well. His tower room had been getting its most use since Charlie had turned down his original offer of the chocolate factory. And the strangest things seemed to be triggering flashbacks. It had been and overall unpleasant experience.

He tasted a bit of lemon flavored fungus absentmindedly while he peered over the edge of his double fudge cliff, observing the crown jewel of his factory, the chocolate river.

"It's running a bit slow..." he mused, whipping out a small red leather notebook and jotting the problem down.

"Mr. Wonka?" a voice from below shouted. Willy, who was quite startled, jumped, let out a small cry and would've went the way of Augustus had he not grabbed a hold of a gummi tree just in time.

"Mr. Wonka? Are you up here?" the voice said again, becoming progressively closer until Charlie appeared beside him on the cliff top. "There you are, I was calling you before. Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, a bit." The paler than usual Wonka breathed tensely.

"Well, Mum was wondering if you wanted to help her gather dessert. But if you're busy, I'm sure she'll manage." He finished politely, figuring that Mr. Wonka was taking this evening as 'alone time'.

"No trouble at all, dear boy," he answered with a flash of white teeth, "besides, I'm not certain your mother _could_ manage it without me." He boasted with a snigger. The man wasn't modest by nature (although he would tell you different) and his arrogance reached a new level where sweets were concerned.

"Great!" Charlie said in his usual hushed tone, "Shall we go then?" Willy smiled toothlessly and walked towards the cliffs edge silently, ignoring him completely. Charlie followed him, trying to figure out what he was staring at so intently.

During the day, the Chocolate Room was striking. But the only time its true beauty showed was dusk. Due to Wonkas striving conquest for absurd realism, the lights would gradually turn orange around seven o'clock and then slowly dim until only a single 'Moon-lamp' (so named by Charlie) would illuminate the room. The effect was breathtaking.

Charlie was engulfed in the golden light, lost in the view. He turned towards Willy to comment on the scene, only to find the chocolatier missing from his spot.

"Last one to the house is a blueberry!" Wonka cried from halfway down the cliffs slope, waggling his cane in the air tauntingly. Charlie grinned excitedly and followed him across the rolling hills of the factory. The race quickly evolved into a game of chase, each of them desperately trying to avoid the house lest ending the game. Willy had become so wrapped up that looking where he was going become a second priority to out running Charlie.

"Boys are you out here?" he asked from the front yard of his house. His answer came in the form of a sidelong collision with Mr. Wonka.

"Hello, Willy." A pinned Mr. Bucket said with a weak smile.

"Hehe…hi." Willy replied timidly giving a small wave before lifting himself up and freeing the man.

Charlie rushed over to his father, an expression of fear and guilt on his small face. "Dad, are you alright?" he asked, frantically helping him up, "I'm sorry, we were just messing about. It was my fault really. You didn't break anything did you?" Charlie continued with lightning quickness, too afraid at what his father might say to let him actually speak.

Mr. Bucket chuckled a bit and rubbed his back, wincing at the bruise he felt. "There's nothing your mother won't be able to fix, Charlie. Just pay a bit more attention where you play next time. And that goes double for you Willy." Charlie looked relieved, albeit still responsible. Mr. Wonka bit his lip nervously and started to sweat at the reprimand he had received, however good natured it had been.

"Were you going to stay for dinner? Mrs. Bucket was hoping you could help her out a bit." Mr. Bucket asked kindly while ruffling Charlie's hair in an attempt to assure the boy that he wasn't in any trouble.

Willy was still frozen. He could feel his hands becoming clammy and clenched them into fists with an audible scrunch. "Um…actually..." He said softly with a strained giggle, "I don't think I'll be able to tonight. I suddenly feel a bit under the weather…"

"But, you said-" Charlie protested.

"I know I said I'd be able to make it…and…and…" Willy started groaning obnoxiously and entered into a few sporadic coughing fits, "I really wish I could. Maybe tomorrow." He finished solemnly.

"Are you sure, Willy? Mrs. Bucket's making stew. It might do you some good." Mr. Bucket suggested.

"No, no, thank you, but no. I really thing I should lie down a bit." He started lurching in a way reminiscent of a cat coughing up a fur ball. "Tell Mrs. Bucket and the old ones I said hi." And with that he limped off towards the nearest glass elevator shaft, ridding up until he reached his special place.

His eyes widened as soon as he stepped off the platform. A barrage of unpleasant flashbacks recounting the lectures his father had given him as a boy surround his mind, and blocked out the surrounding world. One memory in particular stuck in his mind and had been put on an endless loop.

* * *

_The week had been particularly wet and little Willy Wonka was working busily at his desk, oiling his braces. The tiny oil can had been the only present he had received for his birthday that morning. He'd even had to buy the oil himself on the way home from school. But it wasn't the lack of presents and consistently terrible weather that made Willy hate his birthdays. He hated it because the date on his birth certificate was the same as the one on his mother's death certificate._

_Sharing ones birthday with a natural disaster or thoroughly hated holiday was bad in its own right but couldn't compare to Willy's troubles._

_His father, who had stopped showing visible affection when Willy turned four, became even more withdrawn whenever his sons birthday rolled around. He'd leave his sons present (the gifts were always practical, albeit unappealing to children) on Willy's desk early in the morning and then roam around the top floor of their house for the rest of the day. It was rare for Willy to see any traces of his father other than the faint sound of pacing overhead. But this birthday was different._

"_William!" his father bellowed from above Willy's head, making him appear everywhere at once. "William, what is this?" he shouted again, his footsteps growing louder by the second before appearing in his doorway, silhouetted ominously by the hall light behind him._

_Willy gulped as best he could when he saw the small red notebook in his fathers hands and concluded that if there was anytime to tell his father about his chocolate fascination, now was it. Besides, the only thing his father hated worse than bad teeth was a liar. "They're my candy notes, sir."_

"_C-candy notes? What on earth-I bought you this for writing down school assignments. And you use it for candy notes?" His father seemed to be so overcome with rage his usually clear speech was choppy and unrefined. This wasn't the case, but Willy was too young to see anything more than anger._

"_It's important to me! Not that you would care! You don't even like me!" Willy shouted back, immediately regretting it._

_In a flash, to quick for either of them to comprehend, Dr. Wonka slapped his son across the face. The slap itself wasn't that hard, but because of Willy's razor sharp headgear, it left a shallow, but awful looking, cut across Willy's cheek._

_As quickly as he had struck his son, Dr. Wonka drew his hand back in horror and rushed out of the room. Willy wouldn't hear a thing from his father for several days, even the gentle tap-tapping on his ceiling was missing. Fortunately for Willy, he had awoken the next day to find some antiseptic and bandages on his desk right next to his little oil can. Needless to say, things changed between the two. Willy was as obedient as possible without giving up chocolate and Dr. Wonka stayed as far away from his son, both physically and emotionally, as possible. And so their lives continued until the day the left each other._

* * *

However, the man standing in his tower sanctuary didn't recall the horrified look of his father or his shy attempts to help.

For you see, Willy Wonka had passed out the moment he remembered the cold sting of his fathers hand on his face.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed that! It's a little weird, I know, but I wanted to introduce the subplot (Yes, there is a subplot. I'm getting more ambitious and it frightens me ).

Review Thank You's:

Firstly, I would like to say how nice it's been getting your feedback. And I was right about the pressure thing! Onto the thank you's!

Nautical Acronym: Thanks for the praise! And props to you, you're my first reviewer .

BlueKlearWater: Thanks!

Valerie Phoenixfire: Aw, me too! That's why I was so glad when I found yours!

Lauryn-Elsa: That is a tough request…especially for me 'Official Queen of Melodrama!' But I will do my very best to keep it in character throughout and not make too many complete downer chapters (if any at all crosses fingers for unattainable goal).

mage of the winter: Thanks, although I don't know how long you'll continue you liking this fic if you don't like sad-Wonka stories. Although, this seems like a good time to make the point, I plan to make Wonka reactions as humorous as I can. Promise!

Oh, and I like my Alice Cooper line too! I never expected to have so much in common.

Princess Persephone: I remember my first time seeing it…ah what a night, and it's still just as good the next time is still on a sugar high from seeing it the fifth time this afternoon. Oh, and about your questions, all in good time.

Wicked Seraphina: I agree, that scene was adorable, he was just so cute. That's one of my favorite Wonka looks in the movie! (My absolute favorite is when he opens the gate in the squirrel room and looks all sinister. It sends shivers down my spine every time. )

graceofnight: Thanks!

Melantha Nocture: Thanks! Hehe, you called me on the comma thing. I spilt a few into my tea before writing that chapter and was on a frenzy the entire time. Although I did try to tone it down a bit this chapter. Let me know if I was successful.

Felicisgranted: Thanks! I'm glad you can picture it well, I don't think I'm very good at imagery, but am glad you think otherwise!

Telanu: Wow, you hit the nail on the head with those observations. That's what I was worried about getting across. Thanks for the encouragement!

BloodRoses1619: Aw! hugs you back but gets pricked I guess they call you BloodRoses for a reason…and not that wasn't it, as you can see above . I'm glad you like it so far!

christianrockstar: Thanks! I hope you enjoyed it!

onnawufei: Thanks! I was worried about keeping them in character. Thanks for the praise!

Crimson Gypsy: Wow thanks! That's a big bundle of praise! And yeah, I really like the exchange with Mrs. Bucket and Willy too. I think I may have written this fic just to put that in there .

Sephia Mortis: Dear Reviewer, THANKS FOR THE ENCOURAGEMENT! You had an interesting observation too…all you guys/gals (lets face it, mostly gals) are a smart crowd.

Oracle Phoenix: Thanks for you very kind review! You pretty much hit the nail on the head when it came to the plot. Ordinary school gets exposed to a boy who lives in an eccentric and mystical fantasy. I sure hope the kids don't make fun of him…oops, I think I may have said to much.

Thank you to all of you! Keep putting that pressure on me!


	3. Wake Up

Oh dearie me, I don't think I did a good job with this chapter at all. I really hope you guys don't agree but I sincerely doubt any of you will.

Anywho, because of an intelligent suggestion from Telanu I've decided to thank reviewers as a group instead of individually (I will answer review questions at the end though). So, thanks reviewers! You guys are keepin' this story alive!

* * *

"Willy?" Mrs. Bucket asked for the hundredth time that night. "Willy, dear?" She continued tiredly, trying desperately to keep her eyes open. It had been ten o'clock when an entourage of somber Oompa Loompa's had carried their boss in, much to Mr. and Mrs. Bucket's surprise. Now it was midnight and they hadn't gotten any further with the man.

"Do you think he's just sleeping?" Mr. Bucket asked pathetically in a last ditch effort to get some sleep himself.

Mrs. Bucket smirked a bit, "I doubt it, darling. Something tells me he wouldn't have gotten _that_ taking a nap." She said glancing at a rather unpleasant looking lump on the side of the chocolatier's head before returning her attention to her yawning husband. "But really darling, you have work tomorrow. I can handle this by myself." Her husband cast her a skeptical look, "Really, I can."

"I know you can, but I…I want to help you. You can't do everything by yourself, you know." He finished, sitting down next to his wife who sighed deeply.

"It's funny…" she laughed, "I thought moving in here would make things easier. I suppose we'll never get away from our troubles, even in Utopia." She glanced thoughtfully out the window, turning back sharply when she heard Mr. Bucket stifle a laugh of his own. "What?" She cried defensively, "What's got you so hysterical?"

"Nothing!" He cried shielding himself with his hands before relenting, "That was just very philosophical of you."

"Well," she said with narrowed eyes, "us housewives tend to get that way in the wee hours of the morning."

"Really?" Mr. Bucket asked jokingly.

"Really." Mrs. Bucket replied in the same manner.

"Speaking of the wee hours of the morning, we're going to need to get him up and out of here before Charlie catches any wind of this." Mr. Bucket said wistfully, "I can't imagine the commotion he would've caused if he had been up when the Oompa Loompa's brought him in here."

"Oh dear, you're right." Mrs. Bucket said quickly, putting her hand over her mouth, "I hadn't thought about that."

"Well, I suppose all that's left to do is wait for him to wake up and hope it's soon." Her husband said, defeated.

Mrs. Bucket sighed in response, "I suppose I'll put the kettle on. I think we could all use a good cup of tea." She was about to rise when she felt a warm hand on her arm.

"Don't go just yet!" Mr. Bucket cried, "I-I mean, just sit here a while longer. This is the first time we've been alone for…I can't even remember."

Mrs. Bucket's eyes wandered from the unconscious man in front of them, to the four elderly folk, nestled up peacefully in the folds of their kings sized bed, to the partially exposed loft bedroom above her before letting out a small smile, "I suppose you're right."

The husband and the wife edged closer and closer together before sharing an intimate kiss, their first one in quite a while. Little did they know, someone else was sharing the experience.

Mrs. Bucket opened her eyes slightly, only to find Willy Wonka staring at her and her husband with wide eyes. "Oh my, Willy!" she exclaimed, pulling away from her confused husband quickly, "You're awake!" she was blushing a deep scarlet, but her husband was white as a sheet.

"You were just going to bed, weren't you darling." Mrs. Bucket asked with a forced smile.

Mr. Bucket cleared his throat loudly, "Uh, bed, right. Goodnight, Willy!" He said while rushing into the next room, knocking into several pieces of furniture on the way. Mrs. Bucket smiled to herself at his clumsiness, despite the embarrassing situation.

Willy's gaping expression was still firmly planted on his face when Mrs. Bucket returned her attention towards him. He couldn't help it. He hadn't ever imagined that Charlie's Mom and Dad…kissed. Not to mention he had no recollection of falling asleep here, or any recollection of falling asleep at all.

Mrs. Bucket laughed nervously, wishing Willy would stop looking so horrified, "Uh, sorry Willy, we'd forgotten you were there and…" She paused, trying to gauge how much Willy understood about what he'd witnessed, "Well…Mr. Bucket and I are married, and married people…" Willy's mouth just opened and closed wordlessly, "You know what?" Mrs. Bucket cried, "I bet you'd like some tea!" She didn't wait for an answer before jumping up and rushing to the stove.

Willy, trying to comprehend what had just happened, reached up to scratch his head only to feel a searing pain coarse through his skull.

"Aaii!" He yelped, "Something bit me!"

"Oh dear, oh dear…" Mrs. Bucket whispered, seemingly to compensate for Willy's yelling, "Are you all right, Willy? Did you hurt yourself?"

"No, I think something's on my head and-" he continued, talking as quickly, nervously and loudly as ever, before Mrs. Bucket shushed him.

"Do try to keep your voice down, dear. Charlie and his grandparents are sleeping." She chided, "And nothing's on your head. You just have a bump." Willy nodded slowly, but kept a wary eye facing upwards.

Mrs. Bucket left her kettle to heat and walked over to Willy, who seemed to be as confused as he was in pain, "What happened to you, Willy? What could've possibly caused you to fall like you did"

Willy's eyes widened, he certainly didn't remember falling down. He furrowed his brow and tried to remember what he had been doing. Riding in the glass elevator kept coming to mind, but if that were true, how would he be here. He remembered leaving.

"Uh, how'd I get here?" he asked matter-of-factly.

"Oh, silly me, I forgot you were unconscious." The woman laughed to herself.

"…Unconscious?" Willy repeated to himself under his breath.

"A few Oompa Loompa's found you up in that little room at the top of the smoke stack. I suppose they thought we would be the one's to help you and they brought you here about two and a half hours ago."

Willy gulped. The memory of yesterday's episode had returned to him the moment Mrs. Bucket mentioned his tower hideaway. So, like so many other times, he masked his embarrassment and fear with a strained smile and nervous giggle. "Well, that is something, ain't it?"

"Yes, I suppose it is…" Mrs. Bucket said cautiously, sensing something wasn't quite right. "Do you remember falling, then?"

"You know, it's the darnedest thing! I can't remember a goshdarn thing after stepping out of that elevator. I guess I must've slipped or sumthin'." He laughed forcibly.

"Really?" Mrs. Bucket knew he was lying now. She didn't know why or how she was so sure, but something inside her was telling her there was more to the story than that. She just couldn't figure out how to ask what was really going on.

The two sat in silence for a bit. Willy was still grinning absently but seemed to be looking at everything but Mrs. Bucket, who was debating internally about her next course of action. At last, she opened her mouth to speak but a sharp whistle interrupted her.

"Oh dear, that's the water. I'd forgotten about it." Mrs. Bucket said quickly, swallowing her words. She rushed over to the kettle and took it off the flame, hoping the noise hadn't awoken anyone. Taking two mugs from the shelves, she filled each with the boiling water and plopped in two chamomile tea bags (she knew Mr. Wonka's preferred chocolate tea, but she had yet to see chamomile fail when it came to making someone feel better). But, when she turned around, she found Willy already up off the couch clutching his cane and top hat.

"Willy?" she asked, suspicious of the man's eagerness to leave, "Won't you stay and have a cup of tea with me before you go?"

Willy gulped, "Well, I'd love to Mrs. Bucket. But, all this hubbub about slipping on a wet floor has really got me tired." He proceeded to yawn quite loudly and falsely, "Although I'd love to take a rain check on that tea, not that it ever rains here. Not that I couldn't make it rain, but just think about my beautiful meadows turning into puddles of green slop. It'd be a nightmare." He finished contently; quite proud of his elaborate explanation that ironically did little explaining whatsoever.

Mrs. Bucket nodded, knowing when to stop persisting.

Mr. Wonka smiled again and nodded in return. He then turned sharply on his heels to face the doorway, placed his top hat on his head with and audible wince and headed out the door, leaving a perplexed Mrs. Bucket alone in the little house with a cup of tea in each hand. She was about to join her husband, when Willy popped back in the door with a question he had almost forgotten to ask.

"Oh, Mrs. Bucket, before I forget again, what would Charlie's favorite color be? It's frightfully important that I find out."

Mrs. Bucket, who had been so startled by the man's sudden return, faltered a moment before answering, "He's always been fond of the color green, but why is it so important that you know?"

Willy smiled with excitement (Mrs. Bucket was happy to see that it was genuine excitement too), "You'll see next Monday. I'm so glad I remembered to ask now or it would have simply never been ready on time."

Mrs. Bucket opened her mouth to ask another question, but Mr. Wonka was out the door with a quickness she didn't think someone who had recently suffered head trauma could muster. So she was left to silently wonder what had really happened to Willy in that little room, why he'd been so secretive about it and what could Mr. Wonka possibly be planning for next Monday, Charlie's first day of school.

* * *

Pisces1: Yeah, the Rebecca thing was intended. Not that Willy isn't a wonderful boss but whenever he gets all excited about something everything else seems to take a back seat (I wouldn't be surprised if he forgot his own name and/or gender). 


	4. Charlie's Second Gift

Thank you for all your kind reviews! I wrote this chapter especially for you guys! I think it's a great deal more enjoyable than the last one, but you guys are the judges! Enjoy!

* * *

Charlie Bucket smiled softly in his subconscious. He was caught in the divide of dreams and reality, not certain which one he should embrace. On the one hand, it was much easier to dream about school than actually attend it, but on the other, there wasn't any bacon in his reverie.

The boy slowly climbed down from his bedroom and performed some rather impressive stretches, each one sounding a deafening crack. Mrs. Bucket flinched after each one but continued frying up her son's breakfast. After all, Charlie deserved to have a hearty meal his first day of school, he'd gone without one his whole life.

"Good morning, Charlie." Mr. Bucket said from over his newspaper, "Excited about your first day?" Charlie nodded absentmindedly, distracted by the veritable feast before him. As the boy eagerly dug in, Mr. Bucket furrowed his brow in discontent.

"Honey? Did you see this?" he pointed to an article in the local news section. "Did you know they were covering Charlie's first day?"

"What?" Mrs. Bucket and Charlie replied simultaneously.

Mrs. Bucket moved behind her husband and begun reading the story over his shoulder. "Well how does this qualify as news?" she cried.

"It doesn't." Grandpa George said matter-of-factly, "Damn vultures gobble up the slightest scrap of meat they can find wherever that Wonka's concerned. They're just squeezing blood from the stone, and our Charlie's the stone!" he finished, pounding his fist on the bedcovers.

Charlie grew a bit pale at the prospect of being squeezed by the paparazzi.

"Try to be a tad less colorful in your descriptions nest time, Pops." Mr. Bucket whispered to the grumbling man beside him.

Charlie started building a small replica of the chocolate factory out of his breakfast. As if he wasn't worried before…now all of England would be watching.

"Don't be nervous, Charlie." His father said with a plucky smile, "There are always a few reporters hanging around when I go to work each morning. The trick is to ignore them. Don't even say "No questions". It'll only encourage them."

"But--" Charlie protested.

"Listen to your father, Charlie." Aunt Josephine scolded stiffly, "If anyone would know about this mess it would be him. He leaves the factory more than any of us."

"She's right, Charlie." Mrs. Bucket said from the kitchen sink where she had already begun cleaning up. Charlie shifted around in his seat, growing steadily more anxious with each of his relatives assurances. Grandpa Joe knitted his brow with concern upon seeing this.

"Really, Charlie, I know it seems tough now. But I can guarantee it won't be once you get out there." He grasped Charlie's shoulder comfortingly before returning to his bacon and eggs, "Besides, how many people could there be?" he finished with a joking smile.

* * *

"Oh my, that's a lot." Grandpa Joe gulped while looking at the sea of spectators and newsmen. It seemed to stretch out forever.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Bucket fretted, knitting her fingers uneasily, "I never would've suspected…_that_." She turned to her husband expectantly but he was to in awe of the sheer number to comprehend anything else. Out of all of them, Charlie seemed to be the least affected by the crowd. He, unlike the rest of his family, had actually been preparing for the worst. So, instead of panic, he greeted the obstacle with an odd sense of self satisfaction over being right. He continued to watch his elder's frantically debate how they were going to get Charlie out of the gates alive, wondering how adults could argue so long without reaching any solution whatsoever.

"I say we disguise him as another boy!" Grandpa Joe said excitedly, albeit naively, "It's not like they'll be able to tell what he looks like. He never had any publicity photos taken."

Mr. Bucket shook his head somberly and held up the newspaper he had still been holding under his arm. "I'm afraid that's out of the question. These people dug up Charlie's old school photos." Mrs. Bucket brought her palm to her face and muttered something about the 'indecency of media', "He actually has a legion of fans, if you can believe it." Mr. Bucket continued with incredulity.

Indeed, upon looking outside the window for the fifth time, Charlie could see little 'We Love You Charlie' signs dotting the crowd. The only thing that out numbered them were 'Marry Me Willy!' banners.

"Oh bother…" the boy said with irritation, "Mr. Wonka won't like this at all…"

"What won't I like?" Willy asked, appearing almost magically beside the boy.

"Ah!" Charlie yelped in surprise before instinctively jumping in front of the window they had all been looking out. But this attempt was futile in the end considering Willy, who had a good foot on Charlie, had to do nothing more than peer over his apprentice to get a view out the window.

"Oh…" he said with a grimace and large, worried, eyes. The Bucket's hesitated for a bit, waiting to hear more of Willy's response. When none came, Grandpa Joe spoke up gleefully with an idea.

"What about the back door? I doubt there will be as many people there. Charlie may have to walk a little further but--"

"There isn't a back door." Mr. Wonka said curtly, still upset about the media fiasco unfolding outside his factory's gates.

"No back door?" Grandpa Joe asked in disbelief, more surprised than disappointed about his idea's failure.

"I didn't see the purpose…" Mr. Wonka said softly, flinching inwardly as a few woman tried to scale his fence.

"The man has a field of bloody sugar grass and doesn't see the purpose of a back door." Mr. Bucket whispered to his wife, which she returned with a sharp jab of her elbow.

"You know, Mr. Wonka, you don't have to come outside to see me off. I understand why you wouldn't want to…" Charlie faded off, acting much more passive aggressive than he had originally intended intended.

"Really? Oh that's great, Charlie! I knew you'd understand! Good luck facing those reporters, they can be quite grabby!" He started walking away quickly before a hand caught his collar making him stop in his tracks, not to mention gag unpleasantly.

"Willy?" Mrs. Bucket said expectantly, her hand still grasping his coat, "Are you sure you want to go just yet? Don't you remember having some sort of gift prepared? Hmmm…?" Willy, not to mention Charlie, Mr. Bucket and Grandpa Joe, looked shocked at the woman's forcefulness. Though, oddly enough, he felt obligated to obey her.

"Heh…yes you are correct. I don't have it on me now though. Can you all please excuse me while I go and, uh, get it?" the choclatier choked out as best he could while Mrs. Bucket held his collar. Mrs. Bucket nodded and released him. The man sped off like a shot out of a gun, leaving the rest to stare at Mrs. Bucket, awestruck.

"Well, shouldn't we be getting downstairs? I can imagine that's where Willy plans to meet us." The woman said cheerfully before heading for the glass elevator.

* * *

The family waited in the foyer for quite a bit, each of them thankful they had decided to have Charlie leave for school earlier rather than later. There had been general discussion about how they were going to get Charlie out of the crowd relatively quickly between the adults and Charlie had been essentially ignored, giving him some time to mull over the days events.

He wasn't really surprised about the media field day outside. He had been in the news through some way or other all summer, ever since his house had been airlifted into the factory. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket felt it was wise to refrain from doing this until Charlie was out of school for the year, much to the chagrin of Mr. Wonka, Charlie and Grandpa Joe. Charlie had come to visit of course but the whole thing had been done with an element of secrecy. Of course, when a helicopter rips up your house at the foundation and drops in through the roof of a factory, secrets have a way of getting out. Not only was there the excitement of Charlie's first official leave of the factory, speculations over why Charlie had switched schools were setting the paparazzi abuzz.

It was true, Charlie had switched from his old school district to a new, private one. There hadn't been much reason not to. Charlie hadn't had any real friends there and the school itself would sway slightly with every passing breeze. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket had told Mr. Wonka about this and they had gradually convinced him that Freemount Prep was the best place for Charlie to expand his education (Willy had originally planned to correct the problem by eliminating school from Charlie's schedule entirely) and that they needed his help financially to send him here. Never the less, the media had found this piece of information quite juicy and printed up all sorts of articles about the Bucket's mooching off Willy Wonka's hospitality. Charlie recalled with amusement when Mr. Wonka had obtained one of these articles and believed every word. It had taken the Bucket's the entire evening to convince him otherwise.

Charlie had been indifferent to the entire thing. In truth, he disliked both schools. One had been full of children who would spit in your face one day and hug you the next (depending on how much money you had come across in that time). The other, as far as he could gather from the brochure, was pretentious and stiff. But he didn't really have a choice in the matter.

The sound of scrunching plastic and occasional pops took Charlie out of his thoughts and he turned around to see what was making all the noise.

There stood his mentor, wrapped in yards and yards of bubble wrap, his face glowing with a triumphant smile. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket looked dumbfounded, Grandpa Joe was about to split a seam and Charlie didn't look surprised at all.

"What?" Willy cried defensively, unable to comprehend why anyone would think his armor was out of the ordinary.

"Nothing, Willy." Mrs. Bucket said apologetically, trying to hide her own smirk, "I assume this means you'll be joining us outside after all?"

"Well, ya!" He said matter-of-factly, "I wouldn't waste all that time putting it on if I wasn't!" he finished with a good natured giggle before turning to Charlie. "I bet you're wondering what that gift your Mom talked about is, huh? Huh?" Mr. Wonka said excitedly albeit a little too eagerly.

To tell the truth, Charlie had forgotten about his mother's mention of a gift from Willy. His worry about school and the paparazzi was eclipsing every other emotion he may have had, including excitement. However, telling Mr. Wonka this wouldn't do at all.

"Of course I am!" the boy said with ample enthusiasm and a toothy, false, grin. The boy laughed at himself upon realizing he'd probably picked this trick up from Mr. Wonka himself.

"Well, dear boy, here you are!" The man exclaimed excitedly while trying to gesture towards an Oompa Loompa carrying a brightly wrapped package, although ultimately failing due to the constrictiveness of the bubble wrap.

Charlie took the package and thanked the Oompa Loompa with the traditional Loompian salute, which the little man returned before jumping down a trap door to another area of the factory (Charlie assumed, by the color of the man's suit, it was the Licorice Rope Weaving Room).

Charlie opened the package swiftly, which was hard to do considering the many ribbons and bows that adorned it. His fake smile had turned slowly into a real one as he clawed away at the wrapping paper.

Inside, wrapped in a very fine tissue paper was an emerald frockcoat, not much different from Willy's own. Charlie lifted it out of the box excitedly and showed it proudly to his parents who nodded and smiled.

"Well, don't just stand there like some old stick in the mud! Try it on!" Willy shouted, jumping from one foot to the other, or at the very least attempting to.

Charlie did so without hesitation. However, when he draped the coat over himself, it became clear something wasn't quite right.

"It's a little big, isn't it?" Charlie asked innocently. Actually, 'a little' was a large understatement. The sleeves hung over his hangs, obscuring them from view. And the coat itself was only two or three inches off the ground.

"Oh dear, that's not how it was supposed to go at all!" Willy cried huffily, crossing his arms childishly.

Mrs. Bucket, who had been rummaging around in the pockets of her dress from the moment Charlie donned the coat, rushed up to him with five safety pins. She immediately went to work on it, occasionally muttering, "See? That hitches up right there…." As suddenly as she had begun, she pulled away to admire her handiwork. "There! Fits like a glove!" she said proudly. That was a bit of an overstatement. The jacket did 'fit' but the random pleats and folds in the fabric exuded anything but elegance. But it was certainly an improvement.

"Well, look at that!" Mr. Wonka said happily, "I would applaud you, Mrs. Bucket, but this stuff doesn't really allow it." He still tried to do so, though, resulting in an awkward sort of dance. "Oh, and sorry about the size. I sent an Oompa Loompa to take your measurements but a few minutes after I realized what an awful, terrible, stupid, surprise-ruining mistake that had been. Lucky for me I managed to catch up with him. Boy was I sore after that! I must learn to take better care of myself, running is just detrimental to ones health, remember that, Charlie." He finished with a somber face that, Charlie could only assume, he thought made him look wise.

"Thank you Mr. Wonka." Chalie said politely. "Oh, and thank you too Mum." He added quickly after being elbowed by Grandpa Joe. "I'm sure I'll grow into this eventually."

"That's the spirit! I, uh, could make you another one though, it you wanted it that is." Willy trailed off nervously.

"No, this is fine, Mr. Wonka. It'll last longer this way." Charlie said courteously.

Mr. Bucket shifted from foot to foot, "I hate to burst everyone's bubble but isn't it a bit warm out for a coat? Winter doesn't start for another month or so."

Willy smiled slyly and his eyes twinkled like they always did when he was about to share the secret of one of his inventions. "Well, it's like this; I aerate, ventilate and otherwise condition the heck out of these coats. It makes em' nice and cool in any temperature. How else could I wear a coat in here?" He said smugly.

"What about winter?" Mr. Bucket asked.

"What?" Mr. Wonka asked sharply.

"If the coat stay's cool all the time isn't it useless in winter?" He continued. Willy pursed his lips unpleasantly and narrowed his eyes his eyes ever so slightly before answering.

"You wear another coat over it. Duh." He said with arms folded.

Charlie, the eternal diplomat, broke the uncomfortable silence quickly, "Say, shouldn't we be getting out there soon?" He gestured to the front door.

"Oh dear, oh dear..." Mrs. Bucket said anxiously, "With all this commotion about gifts I'd forgotten we were down her for a reason!" She laughed in spite of herself, "Come on Charlie, we've wasted enough time as it is."

The mother, the father, the old man and the heir walked outside quickly, leaving the bubble-wrapped chocolatier to waddle after them as best he could.

* * *

Well, that was a long one. Truth be told, it used to be even longer. It flows much nicer as two chapters. Please tell me what you think! 


	5. First Days and First Fights

Alright, I know I've been AWOL for a few months or so, and that's my fault entirely. It was an extreme disservice to all of my readers who have taken time out of their days to review and encourage me. I'm sorry. But, before I get the mood to down with all my amend-making, let me escort you to the shiny new chapter below. As they always say: better late than never.

Please enjoy this new chapter, however late it may be!

* * *

As Charlie stepped out into the open for the first time in several months, he noticed something new about the world. It was ugly.

Composed entirely of different shades of brown and grey, even the polished steal of the factory walls was muted by the dull palette. For the first time Charlie began to understand Mr. Wonka's hatred of the outside. Why live in a disappointing world without color when you can create a better one out of candy?

The sounds were different too. In the factory, things had a sense of peace to them. There was always a song to be heard, if you knew where to look. And the constant whirring of machinery was always a comfort if you were feeling alone. The only noises Charlie heard now were the irregular snapping of camera bulbs and the dull roar of the crowd.

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket were in front of him, shielding Charlie from the barrage of journalists as best they could. Grandpa Joe walked along side him, grasping his shoulder comfortingly. Charlie jumped as a particularly aggressive woman had successfully reached the top of the fence and was screaming incoherently at the top of her lungs. Her voice was echoed by a terrified shriek directly behind them. Mr. Wonka seemed to be frozen in terror, his sociophopia preventing him from taking another step. With as reassuring an expression as the young heir could muster, he turned around and grabbed Mr. Wonka by the hand urging him forword.

"A-heh…maybe I should, um…" Mr. Wonka stuttered. His eyes and smile growing wider with every step.

"Nonsense, Willy!" Grandpa Joe said jovially, as if they were taking a stroll through the chocolate room, "You've got your…protection all in order. I imagine you'll be quite safe no matter what we run into! No matter how horrible!"

"Oh dear…" Mr. Wonka squeaked, stopping completely again, no liking the picture Grandpa Joe had created one bit. Even Mr. and Mrs. Bucket had stopped now and were watching the scene with worried faces, oblivious to the fact that the rest of the crowd was doing the same, only their expressions were hungry. And not for chocolate, either.

"Yes, Mr. Wonka," Charlie said pleadingly, "It will only be a minute or so longer. Just until I'm out the gate." In truth, Charlie was feeling as frightened as Mr. Wonka, maybe more so. After all, once all this madness was said and done, he would retreat back into the recesses of his factory to brew and concoct all he pleased. Charlie would be drifting alone for six hours a day, five days a week. He didn't even know what his class schedule was.

With cameras still blazing, Charlie motioned to one of the Oompa Loompa gate operator that he was read to leave. With a reluctant groan, the gate slowly opened. The moment this happened it seemed, to Charlie at any rate, that it had been a very poor idea.

A cacophony of high pitched squeals erupted as the doors began opening. One that Mr. Wonka gladly contributed to. It seemed as if the number of spectators had doubled in that instant.

"My God!" Mr. Bucket exclaimed in disbelief, "Shouldn't the authorities be doing more to control this? There must to be a law being broken _somewhere_ in this crowd!" Charlie noticed that as soon as his father had uttered those words, a large group of men in blue uniforms and caps began clearing path through the incessant crowd and towards a school bus. _His_ school bus. This was all a fact that Charlie was reluctant to accept. He had been holding onto the hope that the crowd would simply never stop screaming and he, his family and Mr. Wonka could go on living just as they had been. Completely worry free. But that was not the case.

"Charlie!" Mrs. Bucket cried as best she could over the noise, "Charlie, darling come here! You don't want to be late!"

If the situation had been a little less stressful, Charlie might have wondered how his mother managed to maintain such normal conversation amidst such a bizarre scenario. But unfortunately, Charlie wasn't in a mood for musing. And so, with heavy steps the boy reluctantly walked towards his mother and the roaring crowd behind her. After giving a final hug to his mother and father as well as a wave to a petrified Mr.Wonka and smiling Grandpa Joe, he took his first step outside the factory. Unfortunately, Charlie didn't have the time to savor it (if he had wanted to, which he did not). Almost immediately after leaving the factory, two large policemen grabbed his back and dragged him through the crowd. On girl managed to grab hold of his coat, but she dropped it again quickly. It is remarkably difficult to keep a grip on something if you're faced with an unpleasant amount of pepper spray.

In what seemed to be three seconds, Charlie was through the crowd and on the bus. To his surprise and chagrin, the policemen got on with him. The other children looked at him with wide eyes. After all, this was Charlie Bucket. The luckiest boy in all the world.

If only they had known that, at that moment, Charlie Bucket felt quite the opposite.

* * *

"Oh dear…" Mrs. Bucket said softly as the great doors that separated them from the outside closed noiselessly behind them, "You don't think that will happen every morning, do you?"

Mr. Bucket looked up from his examination of the floor tiles and sighed, "I don't think it will last forever, but…" he fell silent again. Willy bit his lip. The word forever had never been a favorite of his, in any context. He much rather preferred words like 'always' and 'my way'.

"Ahem," the chocolatier squeaked with importance, "I think that now might be a good time to bring up the, um, possibility that Charlie will…" he paused, searching for the right words, "stop going to school." Mr. and Mrs. Bucket exchanged worried glances.

"Willy?" Mrs. Bucket asked earnestly, "I thought we'd discussed why we felt it was important for Charlie to attend school. I thought you agreed with us."

"Well, yeah," Willy said matter-of-factly, "But that was before," he sniffed, "Now I've changed my mind." The Bucket's faces fell.

"I understand you're position, Mr. Wonka," Mr. Bucket said, addressing Willy in a way he hadn't for months, "But school doesn't only teach mathematics, it teaches social skills." Willy stared at him blankly.

"All boys need friends," Grandpa Joe explained kindly. Willy furrowed his brow.

"Well that's not true at all!" Willy exclaimed indignantly, "All I ever needed was myself and that's all that Charlie needs: me." No one said anything as the tiny tantrum ended and Willy began tapping his foot impatiently, "Well? What do you have to say to that?"

Mr. Bucket began to speak but Mrs. Bucket caught his arm, bidding him to stop. With a deep breath and steely eyes she started speaking, "Willy, I think you are being childish and silly and I am very disappointed in you," Willy stopped tapping his foot, "We need your support financially to send Charlie to Freemount, but if you oppose the idea so strongly, we can find another way. Mr. Bucket is not the only one of us that can work." It was clear that she was no longer addressing Willy alone, but her whole family as well, "I can get a job as a seamstress or work at a grocer."

"Don't think you're the only one you can pitch in, dear," Grandpa Joe said reassuringly, "There's some juice left in these old bones, yet."

Mrs. Bucket smiled, "Thank you, Dad. And Willy, I hope you change your mind about Charlie's education. I understand you have a fear of crowds and the prospect of so many people coming to the factory on a regular basis must be hard, but you have to understand how much it will be helping Charlie."

Willy looked as if he had been punched in the stomach. The shock wore off quickly though and turned into anger. With a wrinkled nose and pursed lips, the great chocolatier turned on his heal and walked towards the glass elevator. With a look of betrayal aimed directly at Mrs. Bucket, he pressed the button labeled 'Top' and sped away without saying a word.

Mrs. Bucket looked heartbroken as he vanished out of sight. Mr. Bucket walked over to her and touched her arm gently.

"It had to be said, love. And I think you had to be the one to say it." Mrs. Bucket nodded sadly and Mr. Bucket continued, "Remember how Charlie was a few years ago? I thought he would never look us in the eye again after some of the fights we would have, but look at him now. Willy has always been able to do things exactly as he likes. Change won't come easily. It will take time and patience."

"I know, dear." Mrs. Bucket sighed deeply, "But I can't help but feel like I'veslappedthe poor dearacross the face."

* * *

The school bus wheezed up the front of the school. It was large, made up of several identical square buildings next to a square court yard and a square reflecting pool. The only thing that wasn't uniform was Charlie. He stood out like a sore thumb on the campus, the grey uniform he wore obscured by his giant green coat. Whether that was the reason he was targeted by a small, plump lady in a grey suit and pulled back hair or the fact that private school officials can smell individuality a mile away, Charlie didn't have time to ponder. It had been less than a minute after he had gotten off the school bus when the lady in question, known as Miss Bumblebotts or "Bumblebutt" by the younger students, had him by the ear.

"What do you think this abomination is, young man?" Charlie had to think a while before answering. To him, the whole school was an abomination.

"Well?" She asked shrilly while her long, manicured fingernails pinched him dreadfully.

"A coat, ma'am." Charlie cried, squirming to get out of her grip.

"Don't be fresh with me, young man. I mean what are you doing with it?"

Charlie gulped, "Wearing it, ma'am."

The fierce woman growled slightly, "Article V of the Dress Code Regulations clearly states that all coats worn by the students should be black in color and reach no longer than the waist. Your…coat breaks both those regulations. Remove it at once and put it in your locker until the end of the day. For every time I see it, including now, you shall earn a demerit. Do I make myself clear?" Charlie nodded and Miss Bumblebotts let go of his ear, satisfied. As quick as she had come, the hefty woman waddled towards the school's entrance, stopping only to take the chewing gum of an older girl. It was only after she had disappeared behind the large wooden doors did Charlie realize he had no idea where his locker was.

"One minute, and I already hate it here," Charlie mumbled bitterly to himself.

"Don't worry," a low, posh voice said from behind him, "It gets better as you get used to it."

Charlie turned towards the voice and groaned audibly when he saw the speaker. Now he _knew_ he was going to hate it here.

* * *

Again, I am truly sorry for the length wait time between this update and the last. Honestly, if all my reviewers have abandoned me, I wouldn't be surprised. But if you are there…drop me a line to tell me you're still interested in this old shoe of a story. 


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